


Flash in the Pan

by 11dishwashers



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: College, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/11dishwashers/pseuds/11dishwashers
Summary: Mark moves to a dorm and sees Donghyuck a bit less. Fortunately, they both somewhat annoy each other anyway.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Flash in the Pan

**Author's Note:**

> i have loved and missed you all

To Donghyuck, Mark Lee was nobody new. He was blonde, then brass, then bald, then blonde again. In this time, Mark’s ears seemed to grow bigger- or perhaps, due to the shave, they simply revealed their presence upon Mark’s head. Donghyuck had muddled over them for the first while. Then, like love, he accepted them for what they were. Donghyuck stood in the porch and muddled some more over the ears. He brought his face to the sliding porch glass, which was warped with design, and examined his own ears, and found them acceptable; they were the shape of oysters; small, tanned oysters. He was the better person between the two of them, which was both a source of ego and of rage. The rage struck first, like the hot needle in the sewing machine, leaving behind it stutters of stitches which burned through his skin when he shut himself in the bathroom to cry- subsequently, the ego followed between himself and the rage, taking each stab above the skin. It was often malformed afterwards. 

Mark could fix it, at times. With the door opening came his face and his roots. They were a tacky dark brown, almost longer than the blonde itself- they caught the grease, seemed to fester in the grease, then dispersed the grease. A smudge of blue ink rested on his lips, in the shape of a mangled spine. Donghyuck kissed it away. His lips were cold. His hands were cold. He took his coat off in the hallway, but Mark stopped him and they stood there silently for no apparent reason. 

Mark took the coat, which was new and therefore unseen, and brought it to his room. When he closed the door, he inspected the inner layer- its print was rather mismatched, a peculiar mix of red and blue gingham- and said, “sorry, my roommate’s a total asshole about the hallway.”

“He seriously cares whose coat's up?” Donghyuck laughed. It was not a humorous laugh, although perhaps it hinted at some intentional ‘jovial’ attitude which was not in his nature. Donghyuck found often that what naturally came to him consisted of unattractive traits, the kind confrontational people might enjoy, since he reminded people of themselves. Mark said it once, standing over Donghyuck, between the coffee table and the bed. This was back at home, where when he stood above Donghyuck in such a manner his lamp cast the darkest shadows he had ever seen. In this eclipse he would sit and wait for Mark to move. Memories of the room seemed to be implanted with a sort of haze- the sick sweetness of rum, the crackle of laughter against his skull. Mark had said,  _ you’re always reminding me of other people,  _ laugh laugh laugh, crackle crackle crackle. Then a sip of rum sliding past chalky teeth and through the throat like a blade. Then that blade being replaced with something sharper. 

“Yeah, he’s a bit of a freak honestly. Wait, haven’t I mentioned that?” Mark threw the coat on a chair, where its creases withered into a little slump of burgundy suede, upon such items as a Star Wars hoodie(worn), five odd socks(worn), a pair of Christmas boxer briefs(relentlessly worn), and Donghyuck’s scarf he had forgotten there last time they saw each other(not worn). The scarf had been smothered beneath those boxers for a month now, Donghyuck supposed, though it did not bother him so much as this coat, which was new and thrown in its newness upon the old. Despite this, they somehow had good sex, until the spine of blue ink on Mark’s mouth melted against other, hotter skin. They had good sex until the roommate’s takeaway arrived, along with the girlfriend, the wine bottle, and the rest of it. They had good sex until the light had to be turned on. They had good sex until the light had to be turned off again. They had good sex and then, in frustration, had more. 

Mark did not mention his roommate was moving out soon. He instead opened a window; it was the first time either of them had left the bed in hours now, though they did not sleep. Donghyuck had been so warm against him that Mark no longer seemed a man to him- rather he existed as a dull, damp heat, which could be discarded when one was warmed up sufficiently. The sensation of love existed in degrees of separation, spindling between the living and the dead. When Mark reached up to open the window- and in with the day came a thump of cloudy light- his back revealed a long line, separating muscle and bone. It struck straight downwards. Donghyuck watched him as this happened, then closed his eyes to the dull heat. 

He wanted Mark more than he needed him. He watched Mark to want him. He left Mark to be rid of him. 


End file.
